


Jacket's Voice

by GiftsofGab



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, hotline miami - Freeform, payday, payday 2 - Freeform, payday the heist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiftsofGab/pseuds/GiftsofGab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one in the Payday Gang has heard Jacket's voice. They become determined to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"So this is kind of exciting, huh?" Wolf asked Dallas as the air gently blew inside the gorgeous Lincoln Continental. The two heisters were on their way across town to plot out an important heist. They did this because the laundromat above their safe house was being sprayed for bugs. Houston hated bugs. He stayed behind to (as he claimed) make sure the exterminators did not find anything suspicious in the safe house, but the others believed it was to make sure every last bug had been vanquished.

"First time seeing Jacket's place," Wolf grinned.

"How did we even set this meeting up?" Dallas wondered aloud. "Jacket never says a word."

"I dunno, Bain just told him we're going over, so we're going over."

Jacket was a pretty orderly guy when it came to Bain. He respected Bain- or at least everyone assumed such. He had never caused any trouble for the Payday Gang apart from making a few enemies, but it was nothing they could not handle, especially side by side.

Dallas and Wolf were decked out in immaculate suits- cufflinks and all. They could afford the good life, so they lived it well. Beautiful cars and suits were among their many indulgences with their fortunes. But as Dallas made his way across Washington DC toward the address Bain had provided, he noticed a decline in spectacular view. Well-groomed medians had become weeded, and wooden privacy fences had become chain-linked. "Are we getting close?" Wolf asked, wondering how far into the ghettos they would travel.

"Almost there," Dallas replied.

A few minutes later, the Continental parked on the street beside an apartment complex. "Is this it?" Wolf frowned. The two men got out of the vehicle and stood on the curb, which had cracked away from hubcaps bumping into it over the years. The grass beneath their leather shoes was dead. They looked up in awe at the complex. It was a two-story, bright blue building. Most of the guard rails on the second floor's landing had corroded away, and were replaced with aging plywood to make sure children did not fall to the cracked concrete below.

Jacket was inside his second-floor apartment, lounging on his couch which had a broken leg and a duct-taped arm. When he heard the doorbell, he stood from his very slouched sitting position. He walked to the door. Beside it was a wooden baseball bat. He grabbed this then unlocked 7 bolts on his door. Leaving the chain lock on, he glanced outside. He recognized his fellow heisters and closed the door, then set down the bat, removed the chain, and opened the door wide for Dallas and Wolf to enter.

The two men peered into the apartment. It smelled foul. They entered cautiously. It did not take long for Dallas to locate the source of the smell- a box of takeout tipped over on the countertop in the tiny kitchen beside the entrance. Apart from the rancid food, there was a strong smell of nicotine caked into everything. This was not unfamiliar however, given Dallas's chain-smoking habit in the safehouse and essentially everywhere else. All the lights were off inside. The few rooms were illuminated by light coming through broken blinds and from the blue glow of the box television.

The guests noticed Jacket was wearing a T-shirt and ragged jeans, and of course his signature letterman jacket. Dallas removed his blazer, half because he felt out of place beside Jacket, and half because the apartment was hot and stuffy. Wolf did the same. The men draped them on a coatrack, then rolled up the sleeves of their shirts.

Dallas could not help but question why Jacket lived in such a place and dressed like he did. Jacket probably had more money than the rest of the Payday Gang, based on his past of wiping out the entire Russian mafia in Miami among many other ventures. He could be living in a penthouse with lush carpet and marble interior, but he chose this instead. It was almost as if Jacket was not in it for the money.

Jacket led them to a small breakfast nook. He flipped on a light, then sat in a chair at the wobbly table. Dallas had brought with him some bank blueprints. He rolled them across the table, using an ashtray and a dirty cup as paperweights on two corners. Wolf set a briefcase on the table. He opened it, revealing documents concerning the bank.

Dallas and Wolf began laying out the basics of the plan to Jacket. They discussed ideal entrance and exit procedure, but were sure to set up a plan B. During previous planning sessions, Jacket sat and he listened- only using his microcassette player to signal compliance. "Understood," "Got it," "No problem," the female voice on the recording would call out. This time was no different- Jacket only 'spoke' using his recorder.

After a few hours of detailing, Wolf complained that he was hungry. "Got anything to eat, Jacket?" he asked. The blond man shook his head. "I guess we're going out," said Dallas, pulling his car keys from his pocket. Jacket held up a hand, then stood and walked to a keyring holder beside the door. He took his keys from it, which were hanging on a palm tree keyring. He nodded towards the door. He would drive.

About a mile from Jacket's apartment, Dallas and Wolf were seated at a plastic table outside a hotdog stand, in a gravel lot beside a liquor store. Jacket was at the kiosk window, ordering food for his companions. He had driven the group there via a 1979 Camaro. The car was well-kept, despite the condition of Jacket's apartment. There was a DeLorean parked beside the Camaro at the apartment, but the men would not fit in the two-seated vehicle. It seemed these cars were the only things Jacket had to his name- whatever his name was.

At the table, Dallas was smoking and looking around curiously at the ugly scenery. He had to admit, it had character. He appreciated the change of venue, while at the same time hoping to never return here. It reminded him a bit of life in Chicago, but not because they were in a tough neighborhood- just because of how rundown this shining city could be on the outskirts.

Jacket returned to the table with a tray of three hotdogs, each covered in diced onions and relish.

"Like this! Da**it, Jacket, how did you even order these?" Dallas looked from the food to his partner. Jacket, of course, said nothing. He took his own hotdog from the tray and walked to the kiosk counter to add some mustard.

"Here's the plan, Wolf," Dallas said quietly, eyes still on his questionable lunch. "We're going to get Jacket to talk."

Wolf smiled wide and deviously at the idea of making Jacket speak. His mind filled with dozens of ideas- most of which involved gently harming the man so he would cry out.

Jacket sat back down and began eating his hotdog.

"So, Jacket," Dallas began. "Bain tells us you have a background in the military. Tell us about that."

Jacket looked up at the silver fox, straight into his eyes, chewing his food and saying nothing with a blank stare.

Wolf found this hilarious and burst into roaring laughter. Dallas rolled his eyes. This was not going to be that easy.

After lunch (which consisted of Wolf and Dallas making small talk), the three men headed back to Jacket's apartment to continue the planning. They stepped inside and sat back at the dingy table in the breakfast nook. They discussed the layout and different tactics for a while, then Wolf glanced around the room in a moment of silence. He noticed a few bottles of alcohol on the kitchen counter across the doorway. While Jacket was glancing down, Wolf nudged Dallas with his elbow, as if to say, "Watch this."

"Mind if I grab a drink?" Wolf asked. Jacket nodded towards the kitchen. "Grab me something," Dallas called as Wolf walked into the kitchen.

Wolf poured three glasses of cheap vodka, then quietly peeked in a cabinet. He found a bottle of vinegar. He secretly poured this into one of the glasses, swirled the drink, then placed the vinegar back. He returned to the dining area and placed the three glasses down. As Dallas reached for his glass, Wolf whispered, "Sh*t." He had placed the vinegar in the glass Dallas had taken. He could do nothing to warn him. He could only watch as Dallas downed the drink in one swig.

Immediately, Dallas convulsed and spit out the liquid, all over the blueprints on the table, and partially onto Jacket who sat across from him. He cursed, then turned to Wolf with an angry expression. "What was that?!"

Wolf yet again burst into roaring laughter. He had hoped to make Jacket at least cough, revealing part of his voice. They had never even heard this- or if they had, they paid no attention to it. The closest they had come to receiving Jacket's voice was when he would whistle to get their attention.

Jacket seemed hardly phased after being spit upon. He grabbed a paper napkin from the table and dabbed at his jacket. It had seen many worse bodily fluids than spit. Dallas rubbed his throat after the atrocious drink. He looked up at Wolf in scorn, and knew this endeavor would need to be taken to the next level. He was determined to hear Jacket speak.


	2. Chapter 2

The three heisters planned all through the day and late into the evening. When they became hungry again, they ordered takeout. Jacket had a menu with his favorites circled on it. Dallas ordered the food over the phone, and when they had finished eating, he made sure to throw it away, along with the rotting food on Jacket's kitchen counter.

When the yawning began, Dallas knew it was time to pack up and head home. Before this, however, he wanted to try once more to get Jacket to speak. The blond man silently yawned and stretched, and rubbed his eyes with his rough hands, which tended to be bandaged tightly during heists. He went into his shabby bathroom and shut the door.

"Dude, we should have taken his toilet paper! He'd probably talk then, asking us to bring him some. Well, maybe not- he'd just come out wearing one sock!" Wolf laughed at himself as Dallas pulled out his cellphone. He dialed his trustworthy operations manager. "Bain, I need a favor," he said.

When Jacket came out of the bathroom, Dallas handed him the cellphone. "Bain wants to talk to you," he said. Jacket took the phone and put it up to his ear.

"Jacket, I'm in a bit of jam. I'm the only who had access to that Commissar case at the motel, but it seems I've lost the files. I need your personal account of what happened," Bain said, rolling his eyes at Dallas's stupid request to have him get Jacket to talk.

Jacket said nothing. Dallas and Wolf looked on eagerly. After a moment of staring ahead plainly, Jacket went into his bedroom. He returned a moment later with a Pear laptop, which Dallas wondered if he had lifted from the Pear Store during a heist. Jacket set it on the table and opened it. Dallas and Wolf watched over his shoulder as Jacket selected a file. It was labeled, "Commissar Motel." He dragged it into an e-mail, then handed the cellphone back to Dallas and went to the living room.

"Hello? Jacket, are you th- wait, I got an e-mail." Bain opened the e-mail on his end. It was from Jacket. "Hold on, what the- how did you get my private e-mail address?! And how did you get a copy of my file?! Jacket, who gave you-" Dallas hung up the phone, then stared in awe at Jacket, who plopped down on his old sofa and clicked on the television.

Wolf whistled low. Jacket knew things even Dallas did not know, which Wolf thought was both really unnerving and really bada**.

Dallas gritted his teeth. Not only did Jacket prove he was a better agent than him in this right, but he embarrassed Dallas without even saying a word.

"We'll see you Friday for the heist, Jacket." Dallas pulled his keys from his pocket and moved to the door.

"Jacket, you're amaz-"

"Let's GO, Wolf," Dallas said, flustered and opening the locks on the door.

Jacket waved halfheartedly as his two partners left the apartment.

"Well, that was a bust," Wolf said buckling up in Dallas's car.

Dallas turned on the radio and listened to slow country all the way to Wolf's home, hoping the music would dissuade Wolf from chattering incessantly, but it did not. After the Swede had left the vehicle, Dallas's mind raced with questions about Jacket. Why did he not speak? How did he manage to get into Bain's files? Who were they really dealing with here? It brought to mind a slight sense of distrust, as with Dragan, but the Payday Gang had no knowledge of Jacket's past, so they had no reason to doubt him. Dallas shrugged off this uneasiness and set his thoughts back on the heist. This business of getting Jacket to speak would have to wait. There were more pressing matters at hand.


	3. Chapter 3

The day for the heist was finally upon the Payday Gang. Houston rolled up to Jacket's apartment in their large escape van, Wolf and Dallas in tow, and Jacket climbed in. There were no seats in the back- only weapons, duffle bags, and a few empty canisters of caustic soda, hydrogen chloride, and muriatic acid. Jacket kicked these aside and shut the back double doors. "Ready?" Dallas asked from beside him on the floor. Jacket nodded. As Houston drove towards the bank, the crew in the back readied their weapons. The job was simple: get in, silence the civilians in the lobby, drill the safe upstairs, then rush back to the getaway van.

The vehicle backed into the alley behind the bank. Dallas and Wolf were set to go, bulletproof padding on their chests, thighs, and biceps. They opened the van's back door and shuffled out. Dallas cocked his assault rifle and turned to Jacket. "We'll meet you near the entrance. Ready up." Dallas started making his way down the alley. Wolf smiled ravingly as he grabbed his mask from the van floor. "Let's do this!" he cheered, followed by a howl as he darted after Dallas.

Jacket slid out of the back of the van and removed his letterman and green tee, under which was a white wife-beater. He slipped on a ballistic vest, then placed back on his shirt and classic jacket, which he buttoned halfway. He grabbed his colorful weapon, then he reached for a hammer, which had seen cleaner days, and slipped it into a belt loop.

"Hey, Jacket," Houston called as the silent man was about the shut the doors. Jacket paused and poked his head back into the van, same unconcerned look he always had. Houston turned in his seat to partially face Jacket. "I know the fellas have been giving you a lot of shi* about not talking, but I just wanted to let you know," he paused and looked at the dash, diverting his eyes from Jacket's in a moment of soft-heartedness. "If you ever need anyone to talk to about anything at all, I'm here for you, man. I know it can be hard whe-" Suddenly, the van doors behind Houston shut heavily with a loud slam. He gently threw a hand up and nodded. "Okay, good talk," he called after Jacket. Houston pulled out his cellphone from his pocket and texted his older brother. "That didn't work," he typed.

"I told you it wouldn't, idiot," said an almost instant reply from Dallas. Houston shrugged and turned on the radio, settling in to wait for the getaway.

"Alright, gang, this one's simple," Bain buzzed in each of the crew's earpieces in his usual confident and supportive tone. "You've all been looking over your paperwork- when you're not digging through mine in your free time." The crew could tell Bain was talking through his teeth as he recalled Jacket somehow receiving access to his files. "Anyway, keep the civilians quiet, set up that drill, grab the cash, and get out of there. Masks on, guys."

Just before exiting the alley, the Payday gang slipped on their masks. A clown, a demon, and a chicken rolled out of the brick passage and into the front of the looming bank. Dallas pushed open the bank door with his back and Wolf and Jacket slipped past him into the lobby. Dallas entered after them, and fired a shot to the ceiling. "Everyone get down!" he threatened.

Suddenly, a large piece of plaster broke loose from the ceiling where Dallas had shot it. It fell and landed atop Wolf's and Jacket's head. Wolf stumbled forward, one hand gripping his gun, the other catching himself on the floor then pushing him back to his feet. Jacket flinched when the plaster hit him, but seemed otherwise unscathed. "Are you kidding me?!" Wolf barked.

Dallas shrugged. "Sorry," he whispered, reaching to brush the plaster dust from the back of Wolf's shaved head. Wolf dodged away. "Get off me!"

"We are in a hurry," a woman's voice said sweetly behind Dallas and Wolf. They turned to see Jacket holding his tape recorder, head tilted slightly.

"Sorry, Jacket," Wolf said frowning. "Alright, you heard the man: everybody down!" he screamed as he ran through the bank lobby, firing a few rounds. The bank was incredibly beautiful. All marble with bronze trim, the two-story building hosted 5 teller stalls with velvet ropes leading to them. The first floor also had a few offices with glass walls. On the second floor, up a lovely staircase and down a long hallway with no doors, was the vault.

"Okay, you know your roles. Dallas and Wolf on crowd control. Jacket, get upstairs!"

Jacket rushed up the steps holding his signature gun- a machine pistol, painted blue and purple with stenciled palm trees. He made his way into a conference room, which was filled with businessmen, who were now standing in suspicion of the gunshots fired in the lobby. "Get down." He clicked his microcassette player and motioned with his gun for everyone to drop to the floor. The people in the room seemed confused by this strange man in their doorway.

Suddenly, glass shattered all over the room and the businessmen hit the deck, covering their faces. The large skylight above the room had been smashed in.

A figure zipped down from the roof and into the conference room, with a large duffle bag over one shoulder. "When a crazy-a** motherf***er in a chicken mask tells you to get down, you get the fu** down," the man laughed.

"Chains," Jacket's tape recorder chimed.

"What's up, Jacket?" said the heister in his clown mask. He gave a chin-up nod. Jacket gave him a coy nod in return. "Let's get to that vault," Chains said.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of sirens filled the air. The gang had tripped an alarm, but they had prepared for this, so it was no major setback. As police infiltrated the lobby downstairs, Jacket and Chains threatened and zip-tied the businessmen in the conference room. Then they headed down the long, roomless corridor to the shining vault. Chains threw down the duffle bag at the base of the vault door. Jacket unzipped the bag and took out the thermal drill.

"Sorry I couldn't stop by your place the other day," Chains said. "Had a hot date- you understand. You understand? Yeahhh, you understand!" he said, elbowing Jacket teasingly as he helped set up the drill. "But don't worry, I studied the plan plenty on my own time. Anyway, you got a steady?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, Chains continued. "Me? I got this bombshell. Real cutie. Doesn't know the whole truth about my heisting yet, but maybe someday," he smiled.

Jacket waited silently as the drill began to whirl and Chains chattered casually.

"Alright, fellas, Chains and Jacket have set up the drill," Bain said over Dallas and Wolf's earpieces. "How are things going in the lobby?"

Dallas grinned behind his mask. The heist was going swimmingly thus far. He backed behind the teller counter for a breather after fighting off a horde of incoming local police. "Going fine on my end," Dallas replied.

"About 4 minutes on that drill," Bain said. Soon, the gang would only need to bag the cash and throw it in the escape van.

Dallas looked across the bank and saw Jacket coming down the steps, leveling rows of cops with his gun. This was an excellent vantage point, as the group had expected from poring over the blueprints. As SWAT teams arrived and his machine pistol ran low, Jacket switched to an M-16 Chains had given him. After taking out a significant amount of closing cops, his gun suddenly jammed. He fussed with it for a few seconds, then tossed it aside. When the officers saw he was unarmed, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder and slowly moved up the steps.

"Sit on the stairs- hands on your head!" one commanded. Jacket complied slowly. As one lone officer began climbing the steps to handcuff him, Jacket sprang from his haunches and leapt onto the man. The officer slid backwards down the steps and cried out, knocking down several of his fellow cops. Jacket body-surfed atop the man and, when they had reached the bottom, he pulled the hammer from his belt loop and promptly planted it into the man's helmet. After he broke the visor, he brought the hammer down again with a loud crack and splatter.

As the other SWAT members were climbing to their feet, Jacket spun around, knocking them in the throats with the claw of the hammer. He ducked to dodge a shot from another man, then spun backwards as he hammered the officer in the knee. The man buckled and Jacket grabbed the gun from the officer's belt. He shot the SWAT member point-blank in the face, then turned to pick off the remaining officers with one of their own weapons.

Dallas nodded. Everything was going pretty smoothly. If all went according to plan, they would walk out of there with 7 million dollars. As he moved from behind the teller counter, Dallas decided to check the street for incoming officers. He looked out the huge bank windows. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone atop a building across the street, but too late to react.

He screamed, then fell to the ground as time seemed to slow around him. His eyesight went red and his ears filled with ringing. He had been shot in the shoulder by a sniper. After a moment, he pulled out his pistol and tried to fire it at the sniper, but the bullets would not go the distance. The marksman readied his gun for another shot.

From behind Dallas came the sharp sound of a bullet whizzing past his ear. It flew straight into the sniper's chest, killing him instantly.

"Sniper no longer in working order," the familiar recording of a woman's voice chimed from behind Dallas. "Thanks, Jacket," he said in relief as he turned to see his partner. It wasn't Jacket at all, but Wolf, holding Jacket's microcassette player. Somehow, Dallas could tell Wolf was smiling maniacally behind his mask.


	5. Chapter 5

"Wolf, what are you doing?!" Dallas cried, his shoulder beginning to gush blood from the sniper's shot.

"Saving your life," Wolf said, then clicked the recorder's play button. "You're welcome," it played. Wolf pulled Dallas to his feet, then darted away, firing at the SWAT team closing in around them.

"Wolf, da**it, you could jeopardize this whole heist! And Jacket's life!" shouted Dallas. But Wolf had nary a care as he spun in a flurry of gunfire, howling loudly and cackling.

Dallas gritted his teeth. Had this gone too far? Somehow Wolf had managed to swipe Jacket's microcassette player. Jacket needed to communicate via his recorder, and if he got into trouble, he now had no way to signal the team. Dallas reloaded then bolted across the marble floor to hide under a desk in a private office. He saw Jacket across the room, finishing off one last officer who had his helmet off.

Jacket closed bludgeoned the officer's face with his hammer, until a burst of blood splattered across his chicken mask and his letterman jacket. He reached into his back pocket for his recorder, but it was not there. He searched his other pockets to no avail. He then saw Wolf, backing away from the bank's front door. In Wolf's hand was the recorder. He was firing wildly, backing away from something. After a moment, the unstable man screeched "It's a shield!"

Just then, Bain called over their earpieces, "Chains has been downed!"

Dallas rushed to help Wolf as he saw Jacket dart up the bank steps towards the vault. "Go with Jacket! I got this!" Wolf cried. Dallas paused, but was fired at by the officer behind the shield. Wolf had a tendency to fear shields, cloakers, and the like, but having stolen the recorder, he knew he had messed up and was prepared to defend himself alone if it meant Dallas could keep the others safe.

Wolf backed into a private office and leapt onto an employee desk. The shield quickly followed him here and approached the desk. Wolf dove foot-first at the shield, causing the officer to fall on his back. Wolf's entire weight crashed down onto the cop, and Wolf heard a loud snap. The shield had crushed a few of the officer's bones. Wolf looked down at the man's feet sticking out from the end of the shield. He shot each of them, causing the officer to scream in agony. Wolf stood, then jumped up and elbow dropped onto the shield with a mighty weight. Another snap, accompanied by a bloody splash. Wolf took the recorder from this pocket. "Shield eliminated," said the recorded voice.

Firing cautiously, Wolf exited the office and backed his way up the bank's grand staircase, down the long hallway to the vault. He saw Jacket, who had just finished fixing the drill, and Dallas was providing cover as Wolf raced down the hall. When Wolf arrived, he fell onto the floor beside his partners and crouched to help protect the drill. Jacket saw the tape recorder in Wolf's hand, and promptly snatched it. Wolf chuckled and shrugged at Jacket, but suddenly received a hard punch to his jaw. It was Chains, who had been shot down while tending the drill alone. A few officers had dropped through the skylight in the conference room and made their way towards him while the others were in the lobby.

"You jackass! You could have gotten Jacket killed!" Dallas scoffed, then looked back to the cops to clear the hallway.

Wolf rubbed his jawline beneath his mask. He sighed. Another attempt at getting Jacket to speak: failed.

"What's going on in there?" Bain's voice called as he saw the punch over the bank's security feed.

"Don't worry about it," Chains coughed. Dallas helped him to his feet.

"Well, keep it together, fellas," Bain said.

The drill timer had only a few seconds left. Jacket reloaded his weapon, then clicked on his recorder. He expected a resounding, "Please keep to the right," to warn his partners to move out of the way of the safe door. Instead, Wolf's voice played. "Uh, hi, yes, this is Jacket, and I just farted. Thank goodness for this mask, am I right?"

Dallas, Chains, Jacket looked silently to Wolf. The Swede could feel Dallas's glare from behind his mask. As the safe door swung open, Chains punched Wolf again, hard in the nose. It started bleeding, but Wolf said nothing as the four made their way into the vault.


	6. Chapter 6

The vault was lined with safety deposit boxes, and a table in the center boasted millions in unmarked bills. After Wolf had taken Jacket’s voice recorder, Dallas knew he had to get Jacket to speak as soon as possible, before Wolf did something even more dangerous and stupid. For the time being, however, he had much more important things to focus on.

“Get the saw going!” Bain barked. Wolf pulled a buzzsaw from the duffle bag Chains had brought with him. Jacket collected loot from the boxes as Wolf sawed them open. Dallas and Chains covered the vault door, firing at incoming officers in the thin hallway.

“Hey, man,” Chains said to Dallas in a hushed tone. “I tried real hard, but he wouldn’t crack. I told that man my life’s story up here, but he wouldn’t tell me to shut up!”

Dallas chuckled. “He’s been around Wolf long enough to have a great amount of patience.” Firing away, Dallas’s shoulder stung immensely. His brown tweed suit had a huge dark red stain spreading on it.

“Dallas and Jacket, switch places!” Bain called over their earpieces.

“I’m okay, Bain, I got it,” he said, swallowing hard and struggling to fire his assault rifle with one good arm and steady it against his wounded shoulder.

“That’s cute, but I’m more worried about Jacket! Do you think I trust Wolf alone in there with him- with a buzzsaw- while he’s obsessed with this whole talking thing?!”

Chains laughed heartily. “Listen to the man, Dallas.”

Dallas groaned and slipped into the vault. Jacket rushed out beside Chains and fired the pistol he had taken from the officer in the lobby. “Got you a present,” Chains said, tossing Jacket an ammo box without looking. Jacket caught it in one hand and inspected it. The ammo was for his machine pistol. Jacket quickly switched back to his signature gun, which he had clipped onto his belt when it emptied. He reloaded it and defended the vault well.

After 7 minutes of sawing and firing to the point of nearly-depleted ammo, all of the safety deposit boxes had been opened. Dallas pushed all of the worthwhile contents into a few duffle bags once he had bagged everything from the table at the vault’s center. He finished with 10 bags stuffed to the brim with valuables and cash.

“Alright, boys, time to head out,” said Bain.

The crew shot their way through an incoming raid of officers, then assembly-lined the bags to the manager’s office the other end of the second floor. Dallas tried to hide his pain as he dragged bags across the floor. They fought their way to the office, which also had a single glass wall facing into the bank. At the center of this office was beauty cherrywood desk, and at the back was a reinforced door which stood between them and a staircase to Houston in the escape van. Dallas and Wolf shuffled behind the desk with the duffle bags as Jacket and Chains defended the doorway.

“Get the drill on that door!” shouted Bain.

Wolf took out his buzzsaw, but frowned. “It’s dull!”

“What?!” barked Bain.

“I said it’s dull! Safety deposit boxes took their toll on all my blades!” Wolf replied, whirling the buzzsaw as he cursed and threw it to the ground.

 

“Shi*! Well, according to the blueprints, the door has a keypad on it,” Bain said. “Okay, clowns, find the manager and get that code!”

“Oh, da**,” said Wolf, looking wide-eyed at the floor.

“What now?” said Chains, as he defended the office. The glass wall had been shot a few times, but the glass held up for now.

Wolf stepped aside to reveal the manager behind him, dead on the floor. He had been gagged and his hands were zip-tied. It seemed Chains and Jacket took him hostage in the conference room, but he managed to crawl into his office during the raid and cower under his desk, probably thinking the gang might later want some information from him regarding the bank. The buzzsaw was lodged in his head.

“You KILLED him?!” Chains asked in a fury, looking back over his shoulder and nearly being shot while distracted.

“He was hiding under the desk when I threw down the saw! How was I supposed to know?!”

Bain sighed. “Fine, just find it!”

The crew scrambled to dig in all the desk drawers and filing cabinets in the manager’s private office. Jacket picked up a photo on the manager’s desk. In it, the manager’s wife and children were smiling at the camera. He stared at the photo for a moment, then lay it down on the desk and smashed the glass with his hammer. He removed the photo from the frame. Behind it was a piece of paper with the keypad’s code written on it.

“Secured!” his tape recorder called, as he held up the paper. The other crew members turned to see the code, but suddenly a bullet burst through the air. Jacket managed to duck in time, having seen the creeping officer who fired the round from just outside the office, but he released the paper and it was caught in the blast. Shot into shreds, the paper’s edges glowed as they drifted to the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

Dallas quickly spun around and shot the officer straight through his visor. “Did you see the code?!” he asked Jacket. The man in the chicken mask nodded.

As Jacket turned to move behind the desk and punch the code into the keypad, the glass wall shattered and Chains and Jacket fell to the floor. Getting cuts all over their fingers, they struggled to their feet, but were instantly apprehended by two large officers who came from either side of the hall beyond the office. Dallas and Wolf fired rapidly, but two shields closed in around the arresting officers and covered them.

Dallas and Wolf ducked behind the large desk and Wolf slowly pushed the dead manager aside with his foot and a “yelch!”

Dallas seethed in sudden pain. He gripped his shoulder where the sniper had shot him between two ballistics pads. “Dallas, you okay?” Wolf asked sincerely. While he couldn’t see Dallas’s face, he could tell he was in agony. It wasn’t often Dallas showed such pain.

“Just- gah!- just need to get that door open and get out of here!” Dallas said, biting down hard.

Wolf lit up for a moment. “Jacket!” he shouted over the rain of gunfire attacking the desk. “Tell us that code!”

“Are you for real?!” he heard Chains call back from behind the shields.

“Stay quiet!” barked an officer as he hit Chains in the head with the butt of his gun.

“He’s the only one that knows it!” Wolf yelled back. “As soon as we get it open, we can get Houston in here!”

While Wolf expected Dallas to furiously scold him again for trying to get Jacket to speak, Dallas actually thought this was a good plan. With his bum shoulder and blood loss, he was in no state to release Chains and Jacket and he knew Wolf could not do it alone.

“Not a bad idea,” said Bain. “Hear that, Houston?”

“I’m on my way to the door,” Houston replied over everyone’s earpieces.

“Jacket, today’s the day, bud. Give them that code,” said Bain.

Chains, Houston, Bain, Dallas, and Wolf held their breath where they were. It seemed the time had come and there was no getting around it. Over their earpieces, they heard jacket inhale deeply under his mask.

As the shield standing between the office and Jacket moved into the room to close in on Wolf and Dallas, Jacket leapt up, busting the officer apprehending him in the jaw with the top of his head. The officer fell backwards to the ground. Hands still bound behind his back, Jacket tumbled forward on the floor towards the office. He rolled over the office threshold, where the window had been shattered, right over the line of glass still stuck in the pane. Chains saw shards of glass sticking out of Jacket’s shoulder where he had rolled across the sill. The blond heister sat on his bottom and cut himself loose, using a tall shard of glass in the threshold to break apart the zip-tie. He kicked the shielded officer in the back, causing him to lose his balance and fall forward.

The officer containing Chains jolted towards Jacket. Jacket pulled a large shard of glass from his shoulder and shoved it up through the officer’s jaw as he held the man’s wrist to steady him. The officer fell, dead, and Jacket took his gun, an AR-15. He fired it at the fallen shield in front of him, who fell fully and bled out, then shot the officer who had apprehended him. Then, as the second shield moved in, Chains stood and shoved him with his shoulder. The officer turned to Chains, to batter him with his shield, and Jacket took advantage of the officer’s carelessness by shooting him in the back of the neck as he turned. Both apprehending officers and shields were dead.

“Okay, I know you guys couldn’t see that, but that was pretty bada**,” admitted Bain, who saw the whole thing through the bank’s camera feed.

“I second that,” said Chains, mouth agape in disbelief. Jacket was truly a skilled fighter and quick thinker.

Jacket rushed to cut Chains loose, then bolted to the keypad to punch in the code. The apparatus beeped and Jacket opened the door.

“Alright!” Bain cheered. “Houston, get ready to take off. Chains and Wolf, defend the alley. Jacket, take care of the incoming rush. And Dallas, stay put, bud, we’ll have you out of there in no time.”

Dallas scoffed. He knew he was in no shape to help fight off an incoming horde, but he was too proud to sit under the desk. “Let me help move bags!” he ordered.

“Fine, but don’t take any chances. If you go down, this whole thing could be over,” replied Bain.

Houston, Wolf, and Chains rushed down the fire escape to the van, firing at an incoming storm of cops rushing the alley. Jacket defended the office with his newly-obtained AR-15 as Dallas began dragging bags across the office floor and out the fire escape door.


	8. Chapter 8

At the top of the fire escape, on the landing, Dallas was tossing the bags over the railing. He struggled as he lifted them onto the rail then shoved them over the side. They landed atop the van, and Houston retrieved them and tossed them into the van as Wolf and Chains defended him. 

Inside the bank remained Jacket, who was taking care of what Bain had reported would be the last wave of cops for a few minutes. This was the gang’s last chance to escape. Jacket had fought off an army alone, making sure the bags made it to the car without interference. Beyond the office’s threshold was a SWAT officer and a bulldozer- the final two challengers before Jacket could jet from the bank and the heist could finally end. As the two moved closer to Jacket, the blond heister heard the sound of plastic being crushed. The bulldozer had stepped on his microcassette player, which had fallen out when he was earlier arrested. It was shattered from the weight of the heavily-armored officer. Jacket looked up from the floor and met the eyes of the two approaching police.

Dallas pushed the final bag over the railing. “That’s it!” he called down to Houston.

“Great! Now give Jacket a little cover- there’s a ‘dozer in there!” Bain shouted.

Dallas turned to move back into the bank through the door in the rear of the manager’s office. As he did this, he heard an officer call out, “Flashbang!” The flash grenade was overshot, whizzing past Jacket and onto the landing at the top of the steps, right between Dallas’s feet. Noticing the flashbang, Dallas instinctively lifted his arm to cover his eyes, but he used his injured arm, where he had been caught by a sniper in the shoulder. He gagged in pain and lowered his arm. The flashbang went off.

He heard nothing. He saw nothing. White filled his vision as he stumbled to keep his balance at the top of the steps. 

Jacket swiftly shot the officer who had thrown the flashbang. The gun only let out a few shots, just enough to kill the lesser officer. It was fresh out of ammunition.

Because it was behind him, the flash hardly phased Jacket. The lone bulldozer remained, who immediately retaliated his dead partner with a shotgun blast towards Jacket.

Feeling around for the railing, Dallas gasped for air as he was suddenly shot in the shoulder- in the same spot where the sniper had caught him. He coughed deeply, blood splattering on the inside of his mask. He screamed in absolute torment.

“Dallas, are you there? Talk to me!” Bain called.

Back inside, Jacket stood alone in the office, his mask half-missing from his face. It had been partially blown away by the scattered shot. The mighty bulldozer stopped in his tracks, not daring to pump his shotgun, for what he saw made him question his mortality.

Beneath the hanging rubber, half of Jacket’s face was visible, and it was a bloody mess of raw flesh and shrapnel. Sharp and fiery blue eyes shown from where the mask had been. The contrast of the blue was sharp beside the whites of his eyes- which were actually bloodshot and bright red. They pierced the very soul of the officer with their wide and visceral glare. Jacket stood seething, nose flaring, shoulders broadening, chest puffing, teeth barred.

Jacket jumped onto the desk and threw himself at the bulldozer. He landed on the man’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his neck. He swung his body downward and to the side rapidly, causing the officer to lose balance and fall to the ground. Once they were both on the floor, Jacket scrambled to grab the shotgun from the officer. He climbed atop the man, pinning him to the floor. Jacket turned the barrel of the of the gun to the officer’s face and pried the heavy visor away. He turned the weapon around and swiftly bashed the bulldozer’s teeth with the butt of the gun. As the man screamed for mercy and clawed at Jacket’s legs, Jacket held the barrel of the gun across the officer’s throat, choking him, as Jacket punched his now-bloody face repeatedly. A few powerful blows were delivered when Jacket grabbed the shotgun and shoved it into the bulldozer’s mouth. The officer’s screams were muffled by the gun holding his head to the ground as he viciously tore at Jacket’s legs to be released. Jacket pumped the gun and pulled the trigger.

Breathing heavily, Jacket rolled off the officer’s corpse. Knowing there was a camera behind him, Jacket swiped what was left of the officer’s head, making sure his hand was substantially covered in blood. He then smeared the dark red liquid all over his own face and hair, knocking off what remained of his chicken mask, and hiding his face in a new mask of blood.

He turned towards the camera hanging over the exit door. He gave it a swift and hearty middle finger, then rushed outside to his fallen partner.

Dallas was on the landing of the fire escape. Jacket knelt over Dallas and grabbed his good arm, trying to tug him to his feet.

Below, Chains and Wolf fought off police making their way down the alleyway towards the van. A flurry of gunfire filled the space between the bank and its neighbor building.

Dallas could not get to his feet, still unable to determine which way was up and which way was down. He choked on his own blood beneath his clown mask. Jacket ripped the mask from Dallas’s face to make breathing easier. He threw it over the railing and into the alley below. He gripped Dallas by his blazer’s collar and shook him vigorously.

As the white light faded and the world very slowly came back into view, Dallas saw a mass of red floating over him. He thought it might be a person. After another moment, he realized it was Jacket, covered in blood. “Jacket, are you okay?” he said. He cringed, not being able to hear his own words, as the blood still trickled down his throat. He coughed hard, spattering even more blood onto Jacket. The deep red traveled through the whiskers of his short beard like a maze. As he looked upon Jacket, he saw blurs of bullets flying overhead, nearly hitting his partner, like an urban warzone. Noticing he was being tugged on, he reached his good arm around Jacket’s neck for support. Looking up and his eyesight nearly completely returned, he saw something he had never imagined he would see.

Jacket was shouting in Dallas’s face. Though dazed, the silver fox could read Jacket’s thin lips, which were calling, “Get up! Get up!!” with an enraged passion as blood dripped off his chin. In a moment of great strength, Dallas managed to get to his feet as Jacket pulled him by the collar.

His hearing came back a few seconds later, as he leaned on Jacket who was helping him down the metal steps to the escape van. All he heard was the rain of bullets flying down the alley and ping off the vehicle and the surrounding bricks. Houston had been in the driver’s seat after securing the last bag. Down at the entrance of the alley were Chains and Wolf, firing away at incoming police. Jacket helped Dallas stumble into the back of the van. Wolf and Chains took notice and backed towards the van. Everyone made their way into the vehicle, the final few officers shot down as the double doors slammed shut. Houston took off with screeching tires, leaving many officers’ bodies, and Dallas’s mask, on the dirty, shell-covered floor of the alley.


	9. Chapter 9

A few days after the bank heist, Dallas sat back at the ugly plastic table at the hotdog stand near Jacket’s apartment. Beside him was Wolf, smoking a cigarette. Across from him: Chains and Houston, who were glancing around curiously at this side of town they were not used to seeing.

The stand was having a grand re-opening, though Dallas failed to see what was so grand about it. The only thing he could tell had changed was the gravel lot had been paved. Still, he imagined it would be nice not to go home with dusty shoes from the gravel.

The place was very crowded, as many local lower-income families had come to support their favorite hotdog joint. Kids rushed and played tag on the new cement as their parents waited in the huge line to order lunch. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the new umbrellas which shaded the old tables.

Wolf turned to Dallas. “Want a drag?” he said, offering the cig and clapping a hand on Dallas’s shoulder. Dallas let out a cry and Wolf flinched away. “Sorry, sorry! I forgot, man!” Dallas’s arm was in a sling, his shoulder bound with gauze under a fresh tweed suit. He glared at Wolf, then took the cigarette and finished it off.

“Look, man, they’re giving out free pickles!” Chains said excitedly to Houston as he nudged him with an elbow, pointing at a customer who was given a few dills to pass out to his family.

“I want one! Jacket, get me a pickle!” Wolf called over his shoulder to Jacket, who was at the pick-up window. Dallas glanced back and saw the silent man at the counter. He was handed a pickle, placed it on the tray, then turned to walk to his gang. Dallas’s eyes darted away from the man’s face. Jacket’s cheek was torn in many places from the scatter shot the week before at the bank. Dallas’s own cheeks turned a bit red as he thought of how painful it must have been for Jacket and how embarrassed he was to have needed to lean on his partner to make it back to the van that day.

Jacket stood beside the table and set down the tray with everyone’s order. As Chains, Wolf, and Houston grabbed their hot dogs and dug in, Jacket took his own and turned to the kiosk to visit the condiment counter. “I’ll go with you,” Dallas said, grabbing his dog with his good arm. The crew looked up at him curiously. “Uh, needs relish,” he lied.

“I hear that! Hook me up with some while you’re at it,” said Chains, pointing to Dallas, mouth full of hotdog. Dallas smirked and followed Jacket to the counter.

Jacket pumped mustard onto his hotdog, then took a small plastic condiment container and pumped relish into it for Chains.

“Hey, Jacket,” said Dallas as he approached the counter. Jacket’s eyes met Dallas’s, then the silent man glanced around at the huge crowd of looming customers.

Dallas caught on and understood that it would be dangerous to talk here. “Just,” Dallas said low. “I just wanted to say thank you. Nice job back there,” he said, setting down his food and extending his good hand to Jacket. The blond looked down at Dallas’s outstretched hand for a moment, face seemingly indifferent as always, but he met the grip with his own callused palm and shook firmly. Dallas smiled at him with closed lips, half hoping to get a reaction from Jacket. The quiet heister stared plainly into Dallas’s eyes. After an awkward silence, Jacket clapped a hand onto Dallas’s shoulder, then took his hotdog and Chains’s relish back to the table.

Dallas cringed hard and suppressed a shout as he wriggled a bit in pain. He knew expecting a smile from his partner was too much. He regained his composure as a few patrons around him started to stare. Clearing his throat, he pulled out his cellphone and wedged it between his ear and good shoulder. He grabbed his hotdog and moved behind the stand.

“What’s up?” Bain asked over the phone.

“So you didn’t hear anything?”

“Sorry, man. Both of your masks were off and the security feed in the bank was visual only. The others didn’t hear?”

“Nah, too busy fighting off the cops. There were so many bullets flooding down the alley, they might not have heard it from directly beneath us either.”

“Da**,” Bain laughed. “I guess the mystery remains.”

“He was so vehement, Bain,” Dallas said seriously. “I wish you could have seen it. I’ve never seen him like that- so much emotion,” he pondered.

“Take care, Dallas,” said Bain.

“Yeah,” Dallas replied cooly. “We’ll keep in touch about next month’s heist,” he said sliding the phone into the hand on his bad arm and carefully hanging up.

Dallas fought the crowd to make it back to the table. He sat with his hotdog as the others were finishing up theirs.

“Number 76!!” shouted a worker at the kiosk. Wolf felt uneasy surrounded by so many people and such noise. He lit another cigarette as a woman backed into him. The flame on his lighter touched to his nose and he howled loudly. “Hey, lady!” he shouted, standing to bark at her. She apologized, then darted away after seeing his harsh glare. Wolf scoffed.

“Er, maybe it’s time we get going,” said Chains, glancing at his watch. “We’ll be back at the safehouse now that all the buggy-wuggies are gone,” he said, clasping Houston’s shoulder.

“Shut up, man! We had *flying* cockroaches! Have you seen those things?!”

“Oh, shi*, we had THOSE? Okay, I’ll ease up, man- those muthafu**ers are scary.”

“Thank you!” said Houston, standing with Chains as they cleared their garbage into the trash bin near the table. “Ready, Wolf?” Houston asked, spinning his keys around his index finger. Wolf nodded and moved to join the two. “We’ll catch up with you later,” Chains said to Dallas.

“Nice seeing your neck of the woods,” Houston smiled at Jacket. Jacket nodded, hardly looking up from his meal. The three left the lot and Jacket and Dallas remained at the table alone. As Houston drove away, another car immediately took his parking spot. The hotdog stand was getting more crowded than before as people got off work for lunch.

Despite the bustling lot, there was an awkward silence between Jacket and Dallas. Suddenly, a father sat his two daughters down at the table across from the two heisters. The man rushed off to wait in line, leaving his girls alone under the umbrella.

“I hope it’s okay if we sit with you,” one of the small girls said to Dallas.

The man smirked. “Not a problem,” he said, taking a bite of his hotdog.

“What’s wrong with his face?” the sister whispered loudly, pointing right at Jacket. Dallas cringed and looked to his partner, who insouciantly sucked some mustard from his thumb.

Uncomfortable with the silence from Jacket and the giggling gossip of the two young girls, Dallas quickly finished his hotdog and wiped his mouth, then stood to clear his place. As he was throwing away his garbage, the girls’ father slid into Dallas’s seat with a tray and began handing out food to his daughters. Dallas rolled his eyes, but was finished eating anyway. As people shoved past him, some brushing his injured shoulder, he decided it was time to go.

“Hey, Jacket, it was nice seeing you again,” Dallas said, approaching Jacket’s side. He motioned towards his Lincoln Continental behind him, parked among much cheaper vehicles which had seen better days. “I’ll be sure to call you next time you’re needed on the job.” Jacket looked up at Dallas, but only with his eyes. “Thanks again,” said the older heister. Dallas turned away from Jacket and made his way to his car.

“Keep some ice on that arm,” a casual male voice called from behind Dallas. His eyes widened. He turned swiftly to see who had spoken. He looked to the father of the girls, who was glancing down, but saw Dallas turn and met the heister’s eyes. The father smiled slightly and waved goodbye, perhaps as a thank you for watching the girls as he waited in line, then focused back on his daughters. Dallas looked across the table for Jacket, but he was gone. His eyes darted all over the crowded lot and caught a glimpse of Jacket’s blond hair disappear into the multitude.

Dallas smiled and walked to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to everyone who has followed along. This story was so much fun to write and it was a real treat hearing feedback. I especially appreciate those who stood beside me when I received non-constructive criticism. Thank you so much for your support.  
> -Gabrielle


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